


Like a Shepherd

by LMPayne (orphan_account)



Category: Forever Knight, The X-Files
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-15
Updated: 2009-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/LMPayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This may have been the first X-File fanfic posted on the web, way back in the day.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Like a Shepherd

**Author's Note:**

> This may have been the first X-File fanfic posted on the web, way back in the day.

Like a Shepherd  
by LMPayne

Disclaimers: I don't own any of these characters.

Setting: This was written between s1 and s2 of Forever Knight,  
which was also just after s1 of "The X-Files," I think.

 

"Nicolah! You look terrible!" Janette cried   
as she opened the door. Nick Knight walked into   
her elegant apartment and sank into a darkly tasteful   
armchair. His normally immaculate hair and clothes   
were spotted with dirt, leaves, and some foul-  
smelling gore. Although the sun would not rise for   
almost an hour, his hair and skin seemed singed.   
Janette handed him the glass she had been drinking,   
and he tossed the contents back in one swallow.

"What happened to you?" Janette   
demanded.

"It's a long story," the detective replied.

************************************

"C'mon, Nat, UFO's?" Knight's tone was   
highly skeptical.

"C'mon, Nick, vampires?" she mocked   
him. "There are more things in heaven and earth,   
and all that. Besides, there's been a lot of reputable   
witnesses, and no one has any other explanation for   
all these disappearances."

The two were in Nat's office, which she   
was usually too busy to use. The clutter testified that   
she was always too busy to tidy it. "Business" was   
slow, and they were at liberty to chat about mysteries   
outside the responsibility of the Toronto Police   
Department. There had been a rash of unexplained   
disappearances up around Lake Simcoe in the past   
week. A few of the missing persons had known   
each other, but most had nothing in common.   
"Lights in the sky" had been seen, and rumors were   
flying that government radar had seen something.   
Nick decided to keep the ludicrous argument going,   
just to keep the doctor from noticing that he hadn't   
touched his tea.

"I know all about things undreamt-of in   
your philosophy, Nat. I've been around a long time.   
But I've never, in all my years, run across any little   
green men!"

Don Schanke walked in without knocking,   
as usual. His face and hands were heavily stained   
with green. Natalie took one look and burst out   
laughing, causing Nick to look around and grin.

"Don't even ask, okay? Myra was dyeing a   
dress, and -- I don't even want to go into it. Just   
don't ask." Schanke flopped down into Nat's   
remaining chair.

"Can we laugh?" Nick asked drily.

Schanke tried to change the subject. "Don't   
you guys have any work to do?"

Natalie started busily searching through a   
precarious pile of dusty papers from the corner of   
her desk. "I'm cleaning my office," she   
volunteered.

Schanke turned to Knight and tried to glare   
at him. "What about you, hotshot? Shouldn't you   
be out investigating a murder or something?"

Nick gave him an innocent look. "Sorry,   
Schank. There's just nobody dead."

******************************************

Fox Mulder sat quietly in his cramped   
basement office. He had a fresh newspaper clipping   
on the desk in front of him, but he wasn't seeing the   
print. He was remembering a young man, a misfit,   
an epileptic -- and a promise that Mulder had failed   
to keep. He whipped around at a sudden voice in   
the doorway.

"Quitting time, partner. Aren't you going   
home?" Dana Scully's calm gray eyes took in   
Mulder's jumpiness and the pain in his face.   
Although his leg had healed, he still seemed hurt,   
somehow, by the recent escapade that had almost   
ended his career. She was glad the Bureau had   
decided to keep him on -- he was the most skillful   
detective she had ever worked with. But when she   
saw him looking like this, she couldn't help but   
wonder whether it might not be better, for Mulder's   
own sake, to try to get him reassigned away from the   
X-files.

Mulder tossed her the newspaper. "Take a   
look at that," he suggested.

Scully read the story. "Lake Simcoe.   
Ontario, Canada? Mulder," she warned,"that is out   
of our jurisdiction."

Mulder wheeled his chair around and got a   
folder out of his desk drawer. He handed it to   
Scully as she sat down in his spare chair, and pointed   
at the newsprint as she began to read. "Look at this.   
Three of these missing persons are members of   
NICAP."

"Mulder," Scully began,"don't get into that   
again. You know Max was a delusional...."

"And look here." Mulder turned over the   
papers in the folder until he found the one he   
wanted. "This small article here. They're treating   
this as unrelated -- a camping accident, or an arson."

"Body of a man...charred beyond   
recognition...authorities seeking any   
identification...Lake Simcoe," Scully read. She   
looked up at her partner. "It's still not in our   
jurisdiction, Mulder. And it could all be a   
coincidence."

"I've got two weeks' vacation coming." He   
looked at her. "So do you."

*****************************************

Somewhat to Scully's surprise, she found herself and   
Mulder on their way to Canada only two days later.   
There had been no trouble about getting time off --   
her supervisor seemed to think it would be a good   
idea for "Spooky" Mulder to take a vacation, and for   
Scully to keep an eye on him. She was fleetingly a   
little angry at the nursemaid reputation she seemed to   
be developing, but shrugged it off before the   
supervisor had finished signing the vacation   
requests.

"Mulder's car looks awfully normal," she   
thought as she tossed her luggage into the back and   
walked around to the passenger door. "What did   
you expect," she asked herself. "A hearse? The   
Batmobile?" She got into the car.

Mulder handed her the map as she strapped   
herself in. "You all set?" he asked.

"Just fine," she replied. They got   
underway. A few miles later, Scully found herself   
wondering about the electronic device secured just   
below Mulder's glove compartment. It had two   
rows of LED's across the front, a couple of big   
clunky knobs, and a speaker grille. It looked   
obsolete. "What is this?" she asked the driver.

"That's my old police scanner," Mulder   
told her. "I've never gotten around to taking it out   
of the car. It's way behind the state of the art, but it   
still works. Pretty much."

"I'll take your word for it," she said, but he   
reached over to turn the device on anyway. It made   
a terrible noise, and he automatically adjusted the   
Squelch until the static was barely audible.

"My uncle used one of those things all the   
time," Mulder volunteered. "He was a reporter."

"You had an uncle who was a reporter?"

"Yeah. He worked all over. Las Vegas,   
Seattle, Chicago. All over."

"Your uncle ever work in Ontario,   
Canada?"

"No." There was silence for a while. Then   
suddenly Mulder said,"I wonder about the human   
race, Scully."

Dana looked at him, but he looked all right.   
"What do you mean, Mulder?"

"Well," he began, but then he had to avoid   
a truck. When the car was going steadily again he   
started over again. "We've encountered some very   
strange people -- you could call them human   
mutations -- that pyrokinetic Cecil Lively, and the   
liver-eating Eugene Tooms. Even the Jersey Devil."

Scully wondered where he was going with   
this. "What about them?"

"Are you familiar with the Gaia theory of   
the earth?"

"Isn't that the idea that the earth is all one   
organism?" Scully asked.

"And that it compensates for change, trying   
to keep itself in balance somehow. I've been an   
FBI agent for years, Scully. And I've been paying   
attention to UFO's and paranormal activity all my   
life. Almost." His voice sank to a whisper on the   
last word, and she knew he was remembering his   
sister. Mulder coughed once and went on. "I've   
never before run into these human -- monsters. It's   
like the human race is trying to evolve something   
more -- dangerous. Maybe to compete? To hold   
our own against the aliens in our midst?"

"You think creatures like Tooms and   
Lively are coming about so as to protect the human   
race from alien invaders?" The disbelief in Scully's   
voice was palpable.

"I don't know, Scully. It's just a thought."

"To protect us," Scully repeated flatly.   
"Too bad they're all psychopaths."

****************************************

"Well, somebody's dead now," Schanke   
told Nick as he slapped the dispatch slip down on the   
vampire's desk. "Charred beyond recognition," he   
went on, "and it's all ours. God, I love this job."

Nick winced at his partner's choice of   
words, and read the location off the slip. "That's the   
north edge of town ," he mused. He tried, but   
couldn't remember why the words "charred beyond   
recognition" rang a little bell in his mind. "Let's   
roll, partner."

Natalie was already at the site when they   
arrived. An early-evening jogger had discovered the   
body and called it in. The uniformed cops who had   
been the first police on the scene had cordoned off   
the area, but a man and a woman in a dark car with   
Washington, D.C. plates had apparently gotten there   
even before the police, and were poking around in a   
way that irritated Nick. "Who the hell are these   
people?" he demanded. "What are they doing here?"

Dr. Lambert was right next to him, leaning   
over the body. "They're FBI agents, on vacation, if   
you can believe that. I think they're slumming."   
She looked at the body again, and said,"That's   
funny."

Nick looked where she was looking, and   
saw what she saw. "The body is badly burned, but   
the vegetation near it isn't scorched at all." He   
scouted around the body with his practiced hunter's   
eyes, and added, "the victim came here under his   
own power. The tracks are those of a single man,   
and not someone carrying a heavy burden -- an   
already charred body, for instance. He came along   
here, and then stopped here for a little while --   
confused? -- and then fell over dead. Charred   
beyond recognition." The smell of the burnt human   
flesh was making him sick, and the words "charred   
beyond recognition" kept nagging at him. There   
was some other smell, too, that he just couldn't   
place. He tried to sample the air without sniffing too   
obviously, but before he could identify the weird   
aroma, Don Schanke came back from interviewing   
the jogger and introduced the FBI agents to him.

"Nick!" Schanke began. "Hey, Nick, this   
is Fox Mulder and Dana Scully from the FBI...."

"Aren't you a little out of your   
jurisdiction?" Nick snarled. "This isn't an FBI   
matter."

"We're on vacation," Dana replied   
smoothly. "We happened to hear the call...."

"Have you connected this with the similar   
incident at Lake Simcoe last week?" Mulder   
interrupted.

"That was it!" Knight thought. "That was   
what I kept trying to remember!" He told the FBI   
man, "Lake Simcoe isn't in FBI jurisdiction either."

But Mulder wasn't listening to him. His   
attention had been caught by a call coming in over   
the police radio in the uniformed officer's squad car.   
"Scully," he said, and he had gone a little paler even   
than usual. "Did you hear that call?"

"It was just a report of illegal fireworks,   
Mulder," she tried to calm him down.

"Lights in the sky, Scully, lights in the   
sky." He was already turning back to his car. "I bet   
there's another corpse just like this one in King's   
College Circle, wherever that is. A nice fresh   
corpse."

Nick Knight grabbed the FBI man's   
shoulder and spun him back around. "Are you   
withholding evidence in an arson, 'Agent' Mulder?"   
He turned his head towards Schanke and the   
patrolmen and snapped, "Did any one actually check   
an ID on these two?"

Dana Scully wordlessly produced hers as   
Don placated his partner, "Yeah, Nick, I saw their   
ID's -- both of them. Looked all right to me. But I   
would like to know what's going on here," this last   
addressed to Fox Mulder, who had gotten his   
shoulder back, slightly dented, from Knight's grip,   
and was displaying his ID card to the vampire.

"If I told you all that I think is going on   
here, Detective Schanke," Mulder said, "you   
wouldn't believe me."

Dana knew that that had never stopped him   
before, and so she hastened to put an end to the   
conversation before Mulder told the Toronto   
detectives all about his theories of alien invasion.   
"Look," she said reasonably, "We know we're way   
out of our jurisdiction here, and we're on vacation   
anyway. But Mulder and I did run across some   
similar deaths, and injuries, in Wisconsin a while   
ago, and while it wasn't a case we solved...." It   
hadn't even been a case they should have been   
allowed to know anything about, but the chances of   
Canadian police being able to hold that against them   
were, she hoped, small.

Natalie Lambert was suddenly in the midst   
of the conversation. "Did you say injuries?" she   
demanded. "You mean there were people who were   
burned like this -- and survived?"

Scully forced down the more graphic   
memories of that night in the Townsend Hospital   
ER and nodded.

"And the weapon that did it looked like a   
flash of bright light, according to witnesses who   
saw the attacks from a great enough distance,"   
Mulder put in. "I'd say the killer is, or was, in   
King's College Circle, and that the 'fireworks' that   
were reported are the flash effect associated with   
another killing. If you want to catch up with this   
killer you should probably go there now. And you   
should take us with you."

****************************************

In the enormous back seat of the Toronto   
detective's classic Cadillac, Fox Mulder checked his   
gun. Scully looked at him curiously. "Do you   
really think that will do any good?" she asked him in   
a whisper. "The military in Townsend were armed   
to the teeth, but it didn't help them."

"The things are invisible, or nearly so,"   
Mulder murmured. "Why would they need to be   
invisible if they were also immune to bullets?"   
Scully couldn't answer that, so she got out her own   
gun and checked it over.

 

Nick Knight, driving the car, heard the   
quiet conversation and the smooth metallic clicking   
in the back seat, but he was fairly sure that his   
mortal companions had missed it. Nat Lambert had   
insisted that she come along on the grounds that a   
doctor might be needed, and she was riding between   
Nick and Don in the front seat of the Caddy. Her   
warmth and soft human fragrance were distracting,   
but not distracting enough to keep Nick from   
worrying what sort of invisible killer they might be   
going up against. He wondered whether his   
passengers might be merely insane, but realized that   
would be the "sensible" reaction if they had come   
up with a story about vampires, and withheld his   
judgment. "Check your gun, would ya Schank?" he   
said, and Nat stared at him in surprise.

****************************************

The University of Toronto looked deserted   
at this late hour of a summer's night. Nick checked   
his pistol as he got out of the car, then curled his lip   
in disgust. There was that unidentifiable smell   
again, stronger and more disturbing than it had been   
when overlaid with the stench of crisped human   
flesh. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck.   
The mortals didn't seem to notice anything.

Suddenly a scream rang out from past the   
oak trees that surrounded the King's College Circle   
common. Mulder, who had been heading that   
direction already, broke into a run. The others followed.   
"No!" the unseen voice cried out, "Don't take me!"

Mulder broke through the trees and saw just   
what he was afraid he'd see. A skinny,   
uncoordinated-looking young man was suspended in   
mid-air, in the midst of what looked like a wide   
beam of blue light. The man was obviously shaking   
in terror, but no sounds could be heard from him   
anymore. His grubby sweatshirt had the letters   
NICAP stencilled across the chest. "Not this time!"   
Mulder shouted, and sprang for the young man's   
feet.

Knight and Schanke came thundering into   
view just in time to see the resulting explosion.   
Schanke was blown off his feet, hit his head on a   
tree root, and lost consciousness. Nick narrowed his   
eyes and flew at the blue column of light, suddenly   
much expanded in size, which held its two victims   
suspended above the turf. The light, when he   
reached it, burned like morning, but he was strong   
enough to throw both Mulder and the young stranger   
to the ground outside its influence. Teeth bared   
and eyes blazing, he wrenched himself free from the   
beam's stinging grip, and it disappeared.

The doctors were already bent over the   
fallen when he had cooled down enough to land.   
"This man's dead," Nat announced. "Looks like   
maybe a brain embollism." Despite her cool tones,   
Nick knew her heartbeat sounded afraid.

"What about Schanke?" he asked her.

"He hit his head, might have a concussion,"   
she answered. "Agent Mulder isn't breathing." She   
gestured to where Scully was giving him mouth-to-  
mouth. Nick noticed that, oddly enough, Scully's   
heartbeat was quite normal. He allowed himself to   
hope that she hadn't noticed him flying.

Without warning, Nick's eyes went yellow   
and his teeth extended. Nat looked at him in alarm.   
"Did you hear that?" he breathed. Even as she   
shook her head, he realized the vibration he had   
heard, and which spoke to him so much of danger,   
was well outside the range of human hearing.   
Suddenly, with his vampiric eyesight, he saw two   
shapes moving where there had been nothing before.   
He drew his gun, and told Nat to get down. She   
obeyed, and he was able to concentrate on seeing the   
shapes. He was dimly conscious of Nat spelling   
Scully's resuscitation attempts some distance behind   
him, but ahead of him the mysterious shapes were   
moving in an erratic pattern that made them hard to   
aim at. First one would make a quick dash in some   
direction, then the other. They seemed to stop only   
long enough to change directions, and he could not   
tell from observation which direction they would   
choose next. They were incredibly fast over short   
distances, faster than any living thing he had ever   
seen, and the trick would be to shoot at one while it   
was stopped, and before the two could attack the   
party in some sort of a pincer movement. He fired,   
twice in quick succession, and was rewarded with an   
unearthly wail. The surviving creature sped at him,   
and he sprang straight up into the air, barely in time   
to avoid its rush. The place where he had been   
standing was flooded with an incredibly bright light.   
Nick jammed his eyes shut, and gasped in pain and   
sudden fear. If the creature got a square shot at him   
with that flash of light, it could well mean the True   
Death.

When Nick got his eyes open again, it took   
him a second to locate the alien. Even as he got his   
eyes focussed again, the thing sped towards Natalie   
and the other two humans. Without thinking, the   
vampire dived at the creature, matching unhuman   
speed against unhuman speed. He knocked it to the   
ground, and found himself contending with a   
strength that matched, or maybe even overmatched,   
his own. "Shoot!" he growled at Scully, who was   
on her feet with her weapon out.

Scully hesitated. She still could not actually   
see the alien. It looked to her as if the glowing-eyed   
detective were rolling around on the ground by   
himself in a heat haze.

"Shoot!" the vampire howled again.

"Go ahead, shoot!" called Nat, who had   
finally gotten Mulder breathing on his own again.

"Oh, well," thought Scully. She emptied   
her gun into the detective and the shifty-looking   
ground which surrounded him.

Everything went still.

"Good going, Dana," she told herself,   
"you've killed a Toronto cop."

Fox Mulder opened his eyes just in time to   
see Nick Knight -- fanged, yellow-eyed, and covered   
with ichor -- struggle out from under the dead alien   
(which bore a perfect image of the vampire from   
neck to knees upon its back, as well as the image of   
the ground on which it had died.) The carcass   
began to dissolve into a foul corrosive   
smoke, and the vampire heaved it away from him   
with his superhuman strength.

Nick calmed his eyes, pulled his teeth in,   
and turned to Dana Scully. She met his gaze   
squarely. "You don't believe I'm a vampire," he   
said persuasively.

"Of course I don't believe you're a   
vampire," Scully replied. She holstered her gun and   
knelt beside her partner on the grass. "Are you   
okay, Mulder?" she asked.

**************************************

Nat had gone to the car to call for an   
ambulance, and Scully had gone with her. The three   
wounded men were alone for a moment. Nick had   
already satisfied himself that Don Schanke would be   
all right, and now he was carefully probing the   
blisters forming on his face and wondering how   
badly burned he was under his clothes.

"You're a vampire?" Mulder asked   
hoarsely.

Nick doubted human ears could have heard   
the voice. He looked Mulder straight in the eyes and   
said sincerely, "You don't believe I'm a vampire."

Mulder half-smiled. "I do now." He   
closed his eyes and went on. "Don't worry; nobody   
ever believes anything I tell them."

"That must be disappointing," Nick   
deadpanned.

"How long have you been a vampire?"

"About eight hundred years now," Nick   
admitted.

"You ever meet anything like these before?"   
Mulder asked.

Nick shuddered slightly. "Never in all my   
life. Never anything like them."

Mulder opened his eyes and spoke earnestly   
to the vampire. "I have. And I think their activities   
are increasing. What I've never seen before is a   
human able to beat them."

"I'm not human. Not any more."

"But your self-interest runs with ours,   
doesn't it?" Mulder's voice grew even fainter, as he   
seemed to be drifting off to sleep. "Like a   
shepherd."

******************************************

"What could he mean, Nicolah, like a   
shepherd?" Janette had found some salve   
somewhere, and was rubbing it onto Nick's burned   
skin. It felt delicious.

"I'm not sure." Nick opened his eyes and   
sat up. "A shepherd may eat mutton, but he also   
drives away the wolves. But it doesn't really matter   
what the man meant. Those things I met last night   
are definitely dangerous to us. You can see the   
burns I've got, and they missed me! You should   
talk to the other vampires you know, and warn them   
about these creatures."

"Aliens from another world? No one will   
believe me. I'm not sure I believe you, cherie." But   
Nick could hear the little current of fear under   
Janette's silky skeptical tone.

"I don't pretend to know where they're   
from. All I can say is I had never seen or smelled   
anything like them before, not in eight hundred   
years. But it would be mortally foolish to ignore a   
threat like this. Even if nothing ever comes of it."   
Nick sounded serious.

Janette did not. "But I thought you wanted   
to be mortal, Nicolah." She laughed. "Lie down   
again and let me dress your wounds, as fair lady's   
duty to bold knight."

"You're no lady," Nick growled at her, but   
he was laughing too.

*****************************************

"So you didn't see any of it. Not the   
glowing yellow eyes or the half-inch fangs -- none of   
it, huh Scully?" Mulder asked.

"I already told you, no. And neither did   
you." Scully was driving this time, since Mulder's   
hands were burned and still bandaged, and he had   
been found to have a mild concussion at the hospital.

"How come he was able to see those things   
well enough to shoot them, and to survive fighting   
with one, and survive you shooting that one while he   
was all tangled up with it? The military in the   
Wisconsin case sure weren't able to do any of that,"   
Mulder persisted.

"I admit he has phenomenal night-vision,"   
Dana said calmly. "Dr. Lambert told me he suffers   
from extreme photosensitivity, to the extent that he   
can only work night shift."

"See?"

"Mulder, the world is full of people who   
work nights and have good vision. That doesn't   
mean they're vampires."

Mulder fell silent for a few minutes. Then   
he laughed.

Scully sent him a quick smile, then turned   
her attention back to the road. "Share the joke?" she   
asked.

"Oh, nothing," Mulder replied. "I just   
suddenly feel a little bit better about the fate of the   
human race."

**********************************

[Like a Shepherd]'  
by LMPayne

This story would follow my previously posted story, "Like a Shepherd," and it takes for   
granted the details of LaCroix's past from Karin Welss's "Heart of Darkness." (It   
therefore goes AU some time between the first and the second season of FK, which   
makes sense because that's when I wrote it.) The copyright to the characters Menelaos   
of Pergamon and Sharibet is owned by Marian Gibbons and Karin Welss, and they are   
used here with permission. The copyright to the characters of Nick, Nat and Janette is,   
of course, owned by the "Forever Knight" people, and they are used without   
permission. (Is that the FCC police I hear battering down my door?) I'm sorry, but I   
feel compelled to see how many stories I can write entitled "Like a Shepherd." This   
would be [Like a Shepherd]', if I come up with another it would be [Like a Shepherd]'',   
etc. (Alas, the end of the series was pretty much like the end of Hamlet, and I never   
was able to finish the third one of these. It's languished untouched on the hard drive   
since 1995.)

***

Nick Knight awoke in Janette's bed. His burns were worse than they had first   
appeared; he was oozing blood and fluid all over her sheets. And it hurt like hell --   
chalk up another disadvantage to moving more towards mortality. Bullet wounds   
weren't the only things that hurt more than they used to. He sat up and looked   
disgustedly at the big blisters on his hands, the small blisters on the reddened skin of   
his abdomen. They had barely started healing. The music from the night club below   
would have told him that it had been dark for hours, even without his vampire's sense   
of time. "I don't think I'm going in to work tonight," he muttered to the empty air.

Janette breezed lightly into the room. Her hair was upswept and secured with a black   
velvet ribbon. Her dress, tight, short and off-the-shoulder, was also black velvet, as   
was her ubiquitous choker. To Nick she looked almost unbearably cheerful.   
"Nicolah!" she exclaimed, "awake at last! Mon cher, you look terrible."

Why was everybody always telling him that? "Did you speak to the others?" he asked.

Janette fetched her jar of burn salve, and perched on the bed behind him. "Yes, Nicky.   
The word is on its way out. Everyone I've spoken to so far agrees that these   
*creatures* sound very dangerous, and they will keep a watch out for them."

The salve helped a lot. "Good. Thank you, Janette."

"Any little thing, Nicolah," she twinkled.

"Well, actually," Nick gestured with his burned hands, "there is another favor I'd like to   
ask you. Could you call the precinct -- I'm obviously not going to make it in tonight,   
and I don't think I could dial the phone. And I don't know what I'll put in the report.   
Maybe you'd better call Nat instead."

Janette brought the phone over to the bed without protest, and dialed the number as he   
gave it to her. She held the handset up for him to hear. "You're very accommodating   
tonight, Janette," he whispered as the morgue phone rang.

"Well, you really _do_ look terrible, Nicky," she replied, just as softly.

"Nat's All-Night Diner," the answer came on the phone.

"Nat, this is Nick."

"Nick! Are you okay? Where are you? I've called your place about forty times, and   
Stonetree's gone through a whole _box_ of Kleenex...."

"Listen, Nat, I'll be fine. I need you to bring some of my 'Private Reserve' over to the   
Raven for me." The human blood he'd drunk last night had been a mistake, and he   
didn't mean to compound it. "And bring your doctor stuff," he added reluctantly,   
contemplating his burns.

Nat was instantly concerned. "Are you sure you're okay, Nick?"

"More or less. I'm not going to make it in tonight, but hey, I'll live, right? Tell   
Stonetree something to make him feel better. And I need you to help me make up   
something to put in the report for last night's -- incident."

"All right. Look, I've got a pretty gooey suicide here, but I could put him in storage   
and polish him off in the morning...."

"No big rush, Nat. Go ahead and finish what you're doing."

"I'll see you in an hour or two then. You're at the Raven?"

"Upstairs."

"Oh? Well I'll see you in about an hour. Bye."

"Goodbye."

Janette hung up the phone for him. Wordlessly, she began to anoint his burns again.

"That's very good salve," Nick ventured. "Where did you get it?"

"This? Oh, an old woman made it up for me a long time ago. I think her name was   
Buptcha...."*

Presently she added, "Roll over, Nicky, there's a good boy. Acch, these burns! It's like   
crosses all over you!"

"Hmm?" Nick was half asleep again under her ministering hands. "Not like crosses --   
or fire or sun. This feels like there's -- I don't know -- *malice* in it. Crosses hardly   
even leave a mark anymore."

Janette stopped, surprised. "No? How remarkable." She gathered up her jar and went   
into the other room to put it away. When she came back, she sat on the edge of the   
bed next to the drowsing detective and said, "LaCroix told me a story once, a long time   
before you were born. Would you like to hear it?"

Nick roused himself enough to smile at her and replied, "Sure. Tell me a story,   
Janette."

***

Menelaos awoke to the smell of dust and trampled grass on the warm night air. There   
were thousands of people clogging the lonely countryside, in the hills across the lake   
from Bethsaida, which had been empty when he settled into his cave to sleep that   
morning. They were seething like a flock of silly sheep, and he smiled to think how   
rich the pickings would be around the edges of that formless mob. He was glad, now,   
that Sharibet had sent him away. He could kill and kill -- he was free from the only   
creature in all the world who could restrain him. Killing was good, he found. It had   
been his living while he yet lived, and it was his delight now that he was dead.  
The pale figure flitted soundlessly down from the hidden hillside cave he had made his   
refuge. He studied the mortals, savoring the planning phase of his hunt. The humans   
were slogging away from the lakeside and all chattering among themselves of some   
prophet or healer -- the usual nonsense. Apparently there had been some sort of   
ridiculous prayer-meeting that had gone on all day. The working class and the begging   
class were heavily represented in the mob. Superstitious fools! It was a common thing   
for the peasantry in the area to wander after some dreamer or charlatan who called   
himself a prophet. King Herod had recently eliminated one of the rabble's filthy   
leaders, but more sprang up like mushrooms every day. Ah, well. Nothing to do with   
him, except insofar as _this_ prophet's followers had been led right into Menelaos's   
hunting grounds.

As he floated closer to the crowd, he noticed one strange thing. These people were all   
eating as they walked! Some of the filthy mendicants who clutched their bits of bread   
and fish in their loathsome hands were marveling that there had been enough for all the   
people, and some _leftover_! This particular prophet must be a rich man, to be able to   
afford to feed such a multitude. Maybe it would be more fun to kill the idol of this   
mob, rather than just picking off a few stragglers for food. Maybe there would be   
money, as well as life, to rob from the man who inspired such devotion from this   
enormous band of riffraff.

Menelaos the vampire, formerly of Pergamon, stalked his prey.

***

The teacher sat in the dust exhausted. He and his closest friends had come to this   
remote area to rest for a while after their travels and their labors. Somehow the people   
guessed where they had gone, and thousands had come on foot, harassed and dejected,   
to listen and be healed. How could he ignore them when they needed so much? How   
could he ignore their faith? Maybe it had not been wise to feed them all -- he could   
have sent them home earlier, as Peter had suggested, and they could have gotten food   
for themselves. But it would have been a pity to send them away before they had   
finished listening, before all those in need of healing had been cured.   
The crowds had finally said goodbye and headed for home; the Twelve were in their   
boat on the way to Bethsaida; he could be alone for a little while and pray.

Not alone after all -- the prophet looked up to see a tall white-haired man staring down   
at him from the edge of the lantern's light. He got up. "What do you want with me?"   
he asked.

The stranger only smiled.

Clearly there was something wrong with him. It did not seem to be demonic   
possession, or epilepsy, or madness, or anything the teacher had encountered already   
in his short period of public ministry. Had this menacing-looking man come to be   
healed?

Menelaos was disappointed. The mob's leader seemed to be almost as poor and dirty   
as his followers. Still, it would be good to kill him. Menelaos's eyes burned, his fangs   
descended, and he attacked -- only to be abruptly and completely stopped when the   
grubby little commoner grabbed him by the wrists.

The prophet looked deep into the shocked yellow eyes of his attacker. He could feel   
Menelaos trying to control his mind, just as he could feel him trying to escape his   
physical grip, but that was all external. The spirit was what concerned him; the spirit   
was where the root of this sickness lay. "Come to me," the prophet promised, "and you   
will find rest for your soul."

Menelaos was terrified, for the first time since he had been turned. He struggled   
mightily, exerting his vampiric strength to the fullest, but it made no impression at all   
on his captor. The ordinary brown eyes continued to study him, the calloused and   
tool-scarred brown hands continued to cleave to his wrists. This could not be   
happening! Even his mistress Sharibet could not have held him like this, with so little   
evident exertion. As was his habit, Menelaos found release for his fear in defiance.  
"Let go of me, peasant!" he hissed. "I do _not_ come to you, and I have no need of rest   
for my soul!"

The brown eyes stared into the yellow ones for another full minute. They looked sad   
now, but the teacher's voice was stern. "If you choose thusly, then you are none of   
mine. I tell you now, STAY AWAY FROM MY FLOCK."

As the last words thundered out into the warm night air, Menelaos found his arms had   
been released. He flew away as fast as he could, and didn't stop until the morning   
forced him to take shelter.

Jesus of Nazareth sighed. Then he walked out across the lake to rejoin his   
companions. They seemed to be having some sort of trouble with the boat.

***

"Later he made his way to Rome, and did all he could -- indirectly -- to snuff out the   
new religion that the rabble had founded after their leader's execution. He couldn't do   
as much directly as he would have liked, because their morbid little crosses (can you   
imagine carrying a hangman's noose as a holy symbol?) made them so hard to get close   
to," Janette finished up.

"I had asked him why he picked the name LaCroix one time, a little while after he   
changed it. He told me that story as the answer. I still don't know what it means.   
Maybe we weren't the only ones he never allowed to forget a mistake."

Janette saw that Nick was asleep, so she went downstairs to make sure Natalie was not   
molested on her way through the club. "Sweet dreams, Nicolah," she whispered as she   
left the room.

***

*Buptcha was an OC of Don Bassingthwaite's. I don't remember the title of the fic anymore, but it was awesome.


End file.
